


about a certain deviation

by orphan_account



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Coming Out, M/M, Minor Internalized Homophobia, POV Second Person, Realization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 17:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5751079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a lot of things Phil Lester doesn’t understand, and he thinks that’s mostly okay – mostly, because there’s this one thing he can’t bear stay ignorant to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	about a certain deviation

You feel it for the first time when you’re seven. Your heart flutters when he walks into the room, and you don’t really know why. You do know, however, that you really like his shoes. They glow when he stomps.

You ignore the abnormality.

When your heart next jumps, you’re ten and you find yourself immediately transported back into that classroom with the blue walls covered in crude finger paintings, looking at the little boy with the light up shoes. It’s the same boy, this time, three years later, except now he’s wearing boots. You wonder what this feeling is, and why you are feeling it. He catches you staring and tilts his head at you. You smile sheepishly and look away. What is this?

He moves away a year later. You are partly relieved, as he was only causing confusion for you. Why was your chest clenching whenever you saw him? You don’t really _want_ to know. You’re only ten. It’s much too confusing business for a ten year old, you think.

You ignore the abnormality.

You decide it’s finally time to assess this feeling when you’re eleven and there’s a new boy in school. He sits next to you in class and you find yourself waking up earlier in the morning so that you can look better for him. Your heart jumps whenever he is near.

He grins at you when you come to class every morning, brushing his black hair out of his eyes. You smile sheepishly and look away. You _know_ what this is.

You’ve recently learned about these feelings from your parents. They’re _normal_ , you were told. But your parents also told you it was normal to have these feelings for girls. Why is it always a _him_?

You ignore the abnormality.

McKenna asks you to go to a dance with her when you’re twelve. At this point, you really want to like girls – but girls just don’t make your heart skip a beat like boys do. You say yes to McKenna. Maybe it takes a bit longer with girls, you think.

You go to the dance with McKenna, and she asks you to slow dance with her. You do, and her friends all fawn over the two of you, saying how cute you are.

“Guys, you should _totally_ date,” one says, and you wish they would leave you alone.

McKenna is pretty. She has curly blonde hair and eyes like caramel. She is very nice and funny, and you want to like her the way you like boys. You don’t know why you don’t.

You ignore the abnormality.

You date McKenna, like all her friends said you should. This dating doesn’t consist of anything but occasional hand-holding and going to the movies, like any other ‘couple’ at the age of twelve, but it feels wrong. You wish it didn’t.

You’re with McKenna when you see a boy that causes your stomach to roll – in a good way – and you snap your gaze away from him. You can’t help yourself but look again, and when you do, his eyes meet yours. You smile sheepishly and look away.

McKenna wonders if something is wrong, and you tell her ‘no,’ even though there is. You think you’re broken, dysfunctional. Why, why always _boys_? You don’t get it.

It’s hard to ignore the abnormality.

McKenna breaks up with you a few months later because you’re distant. You won’t talk to her and you won’t tell her why that’s so. Really, it’s because of the boy with the blue eyes that sits in front of you in history class. You feel bad about what you were doing to McKenna, so you apologize and tell her the truth, even though the truth still scares you half to death. You’ve never told anyone before this, and you don’t know if it’s the right thing to do. You say it anyway.

“You’re gay?” McKenna responds with, and you stare blankly at her.

You’ve heard people say the word before, but it was always a bad thing. ‘Oh, man, that’s so _gay.’_ You didn’t really understand the meaning, as no one had really ever told you.

“You like boys?” McKenna states it a different way.

“Yeah… I think,” you reply, but you’re nervous. Does anyone else feel this way, or are you a freak accident?

“Then you’re gay,” she explains, eyeing you to see your reaction. You don’t have a reaction. This word means nothing to you out of context – you don’t understand that it means you are not alone.

“I guess?” you say, looking at your feet. You don’t feel any different than you had before you spoke to McKenna, as she didn’t really show you how she felt on the matter. She pats you on the shoulder and walks away, leaving you with an old word and a new meaning.

The abnormality now has a name, therefore it cannot be ignored.

You don’t tell anyone else that you’re gay until you’re fifteen and Samara’s friend tells you Samara has a crush on you. You don’t know how to approach the situation. Do you tell Samara that you’re gay, do you tell her friend, or nobody at all? You decide to tell Samara, even if most of you thinks you should keep your abnormality a secret. You’ve known her for a good two years at this point, so you trust her. You never really expected her to like you as more than a friend, as she never really gave off that kind of vibe. Maybe you’re just oblivious.

You decide tell her in the school library while you’re both sitting in chairs opposite each other and she’s reading one of the Harry Potter books with ear buds in.

“Samara?” you whisper, but she can’t hear you.

You tap one of her hands that holds the book, and she peers at your over the top of it. She pulls out one earbud, and looks to you expectantly.

“I need to talk to you,” you tell, and she pulls out the other bud.

“Yeah?”

“Okay, so Amelia told me yesterday that you have a crush on me and I–” You’re cut short by a disgruntled Samara.

“Amelia said _what_?” She narrows her eyes at you, and you repeat yourself.

“She said you have a crush on me and I just really need to tell you–”

“Amelia lied,” Samara interrupts. She’s not making this easy for you. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t _like_ you or anything, it’s just I definitely don’t like you like _that_ ,” she trails, “Because, well–” She averts her gaze back down to her book, as if she’s too scared to look you in the eyes. “–Because I don’t like _any_ boys like that.”

“What?” you ask, not sure you heard her correctly.

“I think I like… girls?” Her statement is a whisper among the quieted chatter in the library, but to you it sounds like clarity.

“Wait, seriously? Like, _like_ -like girls?”

You’re shocked and and kind of relieved, and you really hope you understood her right. She blushes and hides behind her book, so you think you probably have. You feel a smile creep across your cheeks and you hope Samara doesn’t take it the wrong way.

“Samara, it’s okay! I was just going to tell you that I like boys,” you tell her confidently, as if a newly found strength has run through your blood.

She sharply locks eyes with you, and you can tell her facial expression is just as surprised as yours must be.

Maybe it’s not an abnormality.

Sixteen is your age when you tell your mother. She had just asked you if Samara was your girlfriend, since you had been spending so much time with her.

“No,” you state firmly, “she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to be shy with me,” she insists, and you wonder whether you should be shy about the fact she’s not your girlfriend because you don’t like girls.

You shrug, and she purses her lips. You feel her gaze on your back as you walk down the hallway, back to your room. Impulsively, you decide it’s time she knew.

“Mum?” you call from down the hallway, even though she’s already looking at you.

“Yes, babe?”

“I need – There’s something I need to tell you.” You muster up all you can before blurting it out, “I like boys.”

She stares at you. Maybe for only a few seconds, but it lasts eternities. Your stomach feels as though it dropped to your feet. You want to cry; maybe you should.

Then, she tells you to come to her. You walk over, a tear spilling over and splattering on the front of your shirt as you go to your mother. You’re scared and you wish you just hadn’t said anything.

“I love you.” She takes you into her arms and you cry on her shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Neither of you say anymore of the matter, at least not for awhile.

She ignores your abnormality.

It’s another year before you have your first boyfriend. He’s tall and your head reaches the perfect height on his chest when you hug. He says he loves your hair and your eyes and your jokes, but he never says “I love _you._ ”

You travel with him during spring break, and he shows you lots of his favorite places. You decide that they are your favorite places, too. He kisses you at all of them. You no longer smile sheepishly and look away; you kiss him back.

You like being kissed. You like how it causes the fluttering of your heart to burst out of control, like a cage of butterflies has been set free in your chest. You like him. You think you love him, but you don’t say so. He doesn’t, either.

Maybe he’s not accepted his abnormality. Maybe you haven’t accepted yours. After all, you’re still calling it an abnormality.

You have an unexpected growth spurt when you’re just about to turn eighteen. Suddenly, your head isn’t at the perfect height on his chest anymore. You’re almost level with him, and he tells you that it’s fine, but you don’t think it is. He doesn’t hug you as much now that your head rests on his shoulder.

Eventually, you don’t kiss anymore and your heart has ceased it’s fluttering. He’s not it. You can’t bring yourself to break up with him. Maybe it’s just a phase and you will love him again soon, you tell yourself. You give yourself time to get out of what you think is some kind of funk, but he doesn’t. He breaks up with you the day after your birthday, because obviously it would be too mean to break up with you on your birthday.

You hate him. (No, you don’t.) You hate your abnormality.

You go to college at the same place as Samara. You accidentally let it slip that you wish your abnormality was nonexistent. She tells you to stop calling it an abnormality; that it irks her when you say so. She doesn’t think it as so – it’s a great thing. She embraces her difference, and knows there is no such thing as _normal_. You can’t bring yourself to embrace it. Girls seem much nicer, and you wish you could just like them.

You continue your sulking until one day Samara comes crying to you about her girlfriend. Well, not about her girlfriend – about her girlfriend’s parents. They don’t like her, and not because of her sexuality, but because of her race and heritage. You tell her that she is beautiful and her culture is beautiful and she is loved.

You realize there are worse things in the world that could have happened to you than being broken up with, and you move on.

You decide to try and accept your abnormality.

Then, you meet Dan. Dan has amber eyes with a fire of passion burning in them. Dan is shorter than you, and you bet that if you were to hug him, his head would be at the perfect height on your chest. You think he still has some height to gain, though, so you don’t cherish that fact. He talks with a vigor that you’re not used to. He rocks back on his heels while he listens to you tell stories.

Your heart isn’t sure about this one. It doesn’t do back flips when Dan is in sight, it just beats. It beats like a bass drum, harder than you can remember it ever beating before. You’re sure Dan can hear it. _Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum_. If he can, he doesn’t say anything.

Whenever you think about Dan, you feel as if your heart will beat out of your ribs. Samara tells you to go for it. Your brain tells you to wait, so that this won’t be like last time.

You can’t help it. When you’re walking with Dan one day, you ask him how he feels.

“I’m good. A little tired, but good, yeah.” He grins at you.

You smile sheepishly and look away. You watch a squirrel run up a tree as you feel Dan staring at you from the other side.

“And how are _you_ feeling?” Dan asks you, “Certainly not normally.”

“Why do you say that?” you snap back, _too_ quickly. Dan notices. You notice that he noticed.

So, you grab his hand and place it on your racing heart. He’s confused as to why you took his hand at first, but as soon as he makes contact with your chest and feels your heart beating, he smiles.

“You too, huh?” Dan takes your free hand and presses it to his chest, and you can feel his heartbeat nearly mirroring yours. You stand with him; people walk past you both, but they don’t understand. You don’t care.

And in that moment, you realize it’s not an abnormality. It’s perfectly natural and welcoming and warm and it’s definitely the best thing, ever.


End file.
